Name: Aisuru Omoi (Going to have to change my username to this)
Age: 11
Physical Description:
Standing at 150 cm, and weighing in at about 42kg Aisuru has a toned out physical appearance. Not much for indulging in sweets or junk food he was never excess in weight. One of the defining characteristics are his ivory glazed eyes that gave way to his blindness. His loose hair lies more towards the darker side, but hidden away are light tints of blonde that had for some reason grown in throughout the years. He has a somewhat tanned complexion from the years of his exposure to the sun and the natural physical adaption that came with his people. His common attire include a a black headband that covers his eyes for the comfort of others around him, along with a charcoal stained hoodie of sorts and equally matching loosely fitted slacks that came down to meet a common pair of raven colored shoes.
Mental Description:
While being level headed, he tends to have a hesitation to trying new things; afraid of not being able to succeed on his first attempt. Under all his composure he still believes that people in the village judge him for being blind, just like his nomadic people did for so many years. On the other hand, after spending so much of his early youth to his own mind, he has become adept at analyzing and coming up with solutions to situations relatively quickly. Aisuru tends to see the best in people, even when it contradicts a person’s behavior, this can lead him to being naïve at times can cause more than a few dilemmas. In the end, he still maintains a hope, a hope that after all is said and done that everything will be alright, even if it seems bleak at first.
History:
There have been things in life that I regret, but wanting more out of people was not one of them. There are certain things about my life that I abhor; but being blind is not one of them.
I may not have lived long, and there are years to come that will change who I am, but this is my story. The story of Aisuru Omoi.
I was born to a laborer and a seamstress; both were kindhearted and some would say too passive. My family and I didn’t call Suna our home for quite a while; we actually lived with a village of nomads who traversed the sands. I look back on my childhood and I wish I could have said that my people treated us like one of their own, but I would be lying to you. I was born blind, and because of such the rest of the village viewed me as defective and useless; and I suppose in a way I could understand their view. I mean, what can a blind individual do to contribute to a society that is already near impossible to live with if you’re perfectly fine; because of this the rest of the travelling village tended to ostracize the three of us.
Some time had passed since my birth and I found myself nearing the age of 7and up until then my mother had been instructing me in the ways of our people, culture and beliefs. She never hated our people for how they treated us, but rather she was disappointed in them for not showing acceptance. My father on the other hand resented our people and spent most of the time outdoors in order to find ways to bring food and most nights we ended up making a small portion of soup made from miscellaneous ingredients. This only put a greater burden on my father, for he felt he wasn’t performing his duty as the “Provider” of our family. Out of all my mother’s teachings, she always made sure I believed in one concept more importantly than any other she taught me, “that life always had a plan for me and to never give up hope” and I believed her.
I tended most of my time inside my room, thinking. Not being able to see I became very frightened of the idea of leaving a known area, But I don’t regret this, For it was me staying in my room thinking, analyzing every thought that crossed my mind over and over, questioning my mother when I didn’t understand certain philosophies, growing the tendency not to overlook any detail no matter how small, only expanded my insight, wisdom and perception to everything around me.
Time had passed and I now welcomed Suna as my new home. I remember hearing the busy streets of Suna for the first time during my 9th birthday. Many things had changed since our time in the little village that held its place under the great shadow of Suna. My father found a job as a laborer’s assistant, which took most of his time and my mother tended to the house but would spend most of her time searching for a means of income herself but soon was bed ridden due to a disease she contracted shortly after arrival to Suna. We suffered heavily that year. So many sleepless nights my father went through worrying about her, so much money wasted on futile medicine that only seem to hasten the spread of the sickness and leave us with nothing but threats to evict us from our home for lack of payment.
I didn’t want to be a bother to my sick mother and my overworked father so I began to distance myself, and to be honest…I regret ever doing so. I felt I was a burden to them both, always having to tend to me, I felt it was my fault we were in the position we were in. “If I was born normal” I would think to myself while I heard the soft whimpers of my mother. “Maybe we would be back home, safe.”
I grew a negative attitude towards the world and the forces controlling my fate. I began to doubt there was hope, and this plan life had in store for me. Shortly after one morning I found myself closer to the edge of accepting these doubts and turning them into beliefs.
I awoke one morning. The light from the sun peeked through the shade covering my window, the rays gliding across my face as I arose from my bed. The soft steps I took towards the living room as to not awake my mother were a reminder of how quiet it was that early morning. A light muffled breathing touched the outer rim of my ear drum as I walked closer.
“Father?” I questioned as I continued to make my way in the living room. My left foot brushing up against an icy arm.
I crouched down, my hands searching for the body the arm was attached to. The light brush of fear within me was only suppressed by the hope that it wasn’t what I thought it was. My hands reaching up a neck and towards the face which I recognized as my mother’s. “Mother” I spoke softly hoping to something that it wasn’t her.
“My Son…” my mother struggled to say, I remember it taking me a moment to gather what was just spoken, for all my fears were now met. Her attempts for air made her speech slow and her voice hushed.
“Mother, Why are you on the floor.” I questioned, the panic slowly setting within me. “You should be in your bed, resting, your sick remember?!” My voice quickly died off as I questioned her. “What if father saw you here, he would have a heart attack!” I recall joking, trying to lessen the severity of the situation.
“You have a kind heart my son, don’t taint it with doubt and pain. “ I think back to how fragile she was, how helpless the situation seem.
“Mother” I cut her off trying to postpone the inevitable. “You can tell me this after you wake up.”
“Don’t ever lose that hope in your heart my son, for you’ll need it where you’re going…” she gave her final breath as her hand lost its’ grip.
“Mother…” I questioned, I remember my whimpers filling up the emptiness of the room, the trembling of my body as I fell on top of her lifeless one. The girn I held as I laid there is something I will never forget.
It was a year since the death of my mother, and my father found himself even more withdrawn from our home. Who could blame him, Grief-stricken, who would want to return to a bed that doesn’t feel complete without the one they love being there with them. Who would want to return to a home to a son who reminded him so much of his wife? I never blamed my father for staying out later then needed. No one should go through that type of laceration to the soul.
I sought out for better things. Maybe it was for the sake of my mother, but I didn’t want to become someone who found life despondent in nature. So whenever I was alone at home I would go out and explore Suna. After some time contemplating since my mother’s death I came to somewhat of an understanding of why she wasn’t worried about dying. I feel she knew that no matter what happened to her, she would always be guiding me, and at times…I do feel her presence.
Following a month after my 10th birthday, I found myself walking back towards my home during nightfall when a boy no older then I came up to me asking for some loose change in order to help his mother. I empathized with the young boy and searched my pockets for the little bit I had scrounged up during the previous week. After finding the last bit of it I extended my arm outward to hand him the money when I remember a thrusting blow hitting my chin from behind. My body toppling over to the ground, a series of piercing kicks meeting my back and chest as I laid there. The breath rushing from body as another kick caused a stream of blood to trickle down my nose.
“Check his pockets!” I remember one of the boys yelling.
Another kick meant for my torso sped towards me; out of instinct my senses took over and I heaved my arm outward; the palm of my hand gripping onto the foot. With a motioning of it upward I forced one of the attackers onto his back. They had heard rumors around Suna of my blindness and sought to take advantage. Trying to catch my breath only for my lips to be met with another kick before the young boys ran off in panic.
I recall laying there in tremendous pain, thinking to myself “What point did all this serve? What was the purpose in all of this?”
The next thing I could remember was a conversation between my father and a shinobi. I felt the warm comforts of my bed, but it was their whispers that held my attention. “I understand you don’t believe in fighting, but your son can be of great worth as a shinobi.”
“Don’t you understand? How many times do I have to tell you? The life of a shinobi is already difficult enough, I’m not going to throw my blind son into that.”
“You’re son is more than just blind. You should have more faith in him than that.”
Those were the last words before I lost touch of reality and vanished to the world of unconsciousness. I now find myself, a year older and on the steps of the ninja academy. Ready to begin my new chapter in life.
.
Age: 11
Physical Description:
Standing at 150 cm, and weighing in at about 42kg Aisuru has a toned out physical appearance. Not much for indulging in sweets or junk food he was never excess in weight. One of the defining characteristics are his ivory glazed eyes that gave way to his blindness. His loose hair lies more towards the darker side, but hidden away are light tints of blonde that had for some reason grown in throughout the years. He has a somewhat tanned complexion from the years of his exposure to the sun and the natural physical adaption that came with his people. His common attire include a a black headband that covers his eyes for the comfort of others around him, along with a charcoal stained hoodie of sorts and equally matching loosely fitted slacks that came down to meet a common pair of raven colored shoes.
Mental Description:
While being level headed, he tends to have a hesitation to trying new things; afraid of not being able to succeed on his first attempt. Under all his composure he still believes that people in the village judge him for being blind, just like his nomadic people did for so many years. On the other hand, after spending so much of his early youth to his own mind, he has become adept at analyzing and coming up with solutions to situations relatively quickly. Aisuru tends to see the best in people, even when it contradicts a person’s behavior, this can lead him to being naïve at times can cause more than a few dilemmas. In the end, he still maintains a hope, a hope that after all is said and done that everything will be alright, even if it seems bleak at first.
History:
There have been things in life that I regret, but wanting more out of people was not one of them. There are certain things about my life that I abhor; but being blind is not one of them.
I may not have lived long, and there are years to come that will change who I am, but this is my story. The story of Aisuru Omoi.
I was born to a laborer and a seamstress; both were kindhearted and some would say too passive. My family and I didn’t call Suna our home for quite a while; we actually lived with a village of nomads who traversed the sands. I look back on my childhood and I wish I could have said that my people treated us like one of their own, but I would be lying to you. I was born blind, and because of such the rest of the village viewed me as defective and useless; and I suppose in a way I could understand their view. I mean, what can a blind individual do to contribute to a society that is already near impossible to live with if you’re perfectly fine; because of this the rest of the travelling village tended to ostracize the three of us.
Some time had passed since my birth and I found myself nearing the age of 7and up until then my mother had been instructing me in the ways of our people, culture and beliefs. She never hated our people for how they treated us, but rather she was disappointed in them for not showing acceptance. My father on the other hand resented our people and spent most of the time outdoors in order to find ways to bring food and most nights we ended up making a small portion of soup made from miscellaneous ingredients. This only put a greater burden on my father, for he felt he wasn’t performing his duty as the “Provider” of our family. Out of all my mother’s teachings, she always made sure I believed in one concept more importantly than any other she taught me, “that life always had a plan for me and to never give up hope” and I believed her.
I tended most of my time inside my room, thinking. Not being able to see I became very frightened of the idea of leaving a known area, But I don’t regret this, For it was me staying in my room thinking, analyzing every thought that crossed my mind over and over, questioning my mother when I didn’t understand certain philosophies, growing the tendency not to overlook any detail no matter how small, only expanded my insight, wisdom and perception to everything around me.
Time had passed and I now welcomed Suna as my new home. I remember hearing the busy streets of Suna for the first time during my 9th birthday. Many things had changed since our time in the little village that held its place under the great shadow of Suna. My father found a job as a laborer’s assistant, which took most of his time and my mother tended to the house but would spend most of her time searching for a means of income herself but soon was bed ridden due to a disease she contracted shortly after arrival to Suna. We suffered heavily that year. So many sleepless nights my father went through worrying about her, so much money wasted on futile medicine that only seem to hasten the spread of the sickness and leave us with nothing but threats to evict us from our home for lack of payment.
I didn’t want to be a bother to my sick mother and my overworked father so I began to distance myself, and to be honest…I regret ever doing so. I felt I was a burden to them both, always having to tend to me, I felt it was my fault we were in the position we were in. “If I was born normal” I would think to myself while I heard the soft whimpers of my mother. “Maybe we would be back home, safe.”
I grew a negative attitude towards the world and the forces controlling my fate. I began to doubt there was hope, and this plan life had in store for me. Shortly after one morning I found myself closer to the edge of accepting these doubts and turning them into beliefs.
I awoke one morning. The light from the sun peeked through the shade covering my window, the rays gliding across my face as I arose from my bed. The soft steps I took towards the living room as to not awake my mother were a reminder of how quiet it was that early morning. A light muffled breathing touched the outer rim of my ear drum as I walked closer.
“Father?” I questioned as I continued to make my way in the living room. My left foot brushing up against an icy arm.
I crouched down, my hands searching for the body the arm was attached to. The light brush of fear within me was only suppressed by the hope that it wasn’t what I thought it was. My hands reaching up a neck and towards the face which I recognized as my mother’s. “Mother” I spoke softly hoping to something that it wasn’t her.
“My Son…” my mother struggled to say, I remember it taking me a moment to gather what was just spoken, for all my fears were now met. Her attempts for air made her speech slow and her voice hushed.
“Mother, Why are you on the floor.” I questioned, the panic slowly setting within me. “You should be in your bed, resting, your sick remember?!” My voice quickly died off as I questioned her. “What if father saw you here, he would have a heart attack!” I recall joking, trying to lessen the severity of the situation.
“You have a kind heart my son, don’t taint it with doubt and pain. “ I think back to how fragile she was, how helpless the situation seem.
“Mother” I cut her off trying to postpone the inevitable. “You can tell me this after you wake up.”
“Don’t ever lose that hope in your heart my son, for you’ll need it where you’re going…” she gave her final breath as her hand lost its’ grip.
“Mother…” I questioned, I remember my whimpers filling up the emptiness of the room, the trembling of my body as I fell on top of her lifeless one. The girn I held as I laid there is something I will never forget.
It was a year since the death of my mother, and my father found himself even more withdrawn from our home. Who could blame him, Grief-stricken, who would want to return to a bed that doesn’t feel complete without the one they love being there with them. Who would want to return to a home to a son who reminded him so much of his wife? I never blamed my father for staying out later then needed. No one should go through that type of laceration to the soul.
I sought out for better things. Maybe it was for the sake of my mother, but I didn’t want to become someone who found life despondent in nature. So whenever I was alone at home I would go out and explore Suna. After some time contemplating since my mother’s death I came to somewhat of an understanding of why she wasn’t worried about dying. I feel she knew that no matter what happened to her, she would always be guiding me, and at times…I do feel her presence.
Following a month after my 10th birthday, I found myself walking back towards my home during nightfall when a boy no older then I came up to me asking for some loose change in order to help his mother. I empathized with the young boy and searched my pockets for the little bit I had scrounged up during the previous week. After finding the last bit of it I extended my arm outward to hand him the money when I remember a thrusting blow hitting my chin from behind. My body toppling over to the ground, a series of piercing kicks meeting my back and chest as I laid there. The breath rushing from body as another kick caused a stream of blood to trickle down my nose.
“Check his pockets!” I remember one of the boys yelling.
Another kick meant for my torso sped towards me; out of instinct my senses took over and I heaved my arm outward; the palm of my hand gripping onto the foot. With a motioning of it upward I forced one of the attackers onto his back. They had heard rumors around Suna of my blindness and sought to take advantage. Trying to catch my breath only for my lips to be met with another kick before the young boys ran off in panic.
I recall laying there in tremendous pain, thinking to myself “What point did all this serve? What was the purpose in all of this?”
The next thing I could remember was a conversation between my father and a shinobi. I felt the warm comforts of my bed, but it was their whispers that held my attention. “I understand you don’t believe in fighting, but your son can be of great worth as a shinobi.”
“Don’t you understand? How many times do I have to tell you? The life of a shinobi is already difficult enough, I’m not going to throw my blind son into that.”
“You’re son is more than just blind. You should have more faith in him than that.”
Those were the last words before I lost touch of reality and vanished to the world of unconsciousness. I now find myself, a year older and on the steps of the ninja academy. Ready to begin my new chapter in life.
.
